Sometimes I feel like a gun without bullets, a cake decorator without icing
or, a broom without any dirt to sweep — a mason without a wall to build
piling up bricks and tools for that next big project that is nowhere in sight.

So, without an externally funded job, I start piling the bricks
into whatever seems to feel right at this moment, though right
isn’t obvious to my wandering thoughts. Shut up and go do something real.

But this is real isn’t it? Am I finally going crazy? Some would say
that happened a long while ago but, really — all artists and writers are crazy, right?

Some say I’m not crazy enough — too regular a guy, and so do I but then,
why am I sitting here doing this when I could be seeking the next thrill
elsewhere in this room, on this computer or in this stomach that awaits breakfast.